


Bait

by Deadsy, ktula



Category: Dredd (2012), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abysmal Dirty Talk, Anonymous Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Blindfolds, Casual Sex, Consensual Sex, Dirty Talk, Hacking, Kylo Ren is Not Matt the Radar Technician, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Porn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scent Kink, Voyeurism, background kylux, dubcon, hard techienician
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-04-05 19:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19046674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deadsy/pseuds/Deadsy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktula/pseuds/ktula
Summary: Techie’s goal is a slow takeover of the First Order network via virus-infected porn. Call it an insurance policy.The side-effect is that porn doesn't do shit for him anymore, but that was bound to happen. His dick works fine for everything else, so when he gets edgy, he fucks someone anonymously. Crosses their name off the list, one and done. No repeats.It's fine.





	1. Safe Mode

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our fic, we wrote you some...hard techienician? It's a slightly softer Matt than normal, at least as far as Techie knows, and a harder post-trauma Techie in the wake of Peach Trees.
> 
>  **EDIT: ABOUT THE TAGS:** As of June 3rd, the non-con warning has been replaced by the 'chose not to use' warning, and a tag has been added for non-consensual voyeurism. This is for two reasons--the first is that the noncon is not (and will never be in this fic) related to any of the in-person sexual activity (and relates ONLY to the voyeurism), and the second is that if someone were to read the non-con warning, and then the story summary, and did NOT go on to read these notes about the tag, one would have an entirely different idea of what the story entails--and that's not the story we wrote, so edits were in order.
> 
> The in-person sexual contact in this fic is consensual/wanted by both parties. The dubcon and noncon, as tagged, are related to the voyeurism, Techie's hacking, and, specifically, Techie's continued hacking into Matt's webcam while Matt is watching porn and jerking off.
> 
> There's more information on this in the chapter warnings in the end notes--and, as always, you can reach out on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/heyktula) with any specific questions.

 

The porn is bait.

It’s high-quality porn. Good video, good audio, full uncut videos that run from start to finish without breaks. The entire collection is meticulously tagged, but the tags are deliberately scrambled, and the search function doesn’t work.

All Techie needs is some dumbfuck who’s too stupid to know he shouldn’t be installing unauthorized software on his personal workstation. Then he can bring out the big guns. Finish the app. Release some of the porn he’s been holding back.

(He’s never going to have access to the entire network if he can’t get somebody dumb enough to install shit on other computers. He’s not interested in leaving his rooms, so all he has access to is surrounding area, and being able to control the cameras and flicker the lights on a fraction of a deck is nothing compared to the safeguard he _could_ have, once he finds the right person. It’s not necessary, he knows it’s not—but the galaxy is a big place. Nobody can really be trusted, not actually. That’s how they got his eyes, the first time. They aren’t getting fuck-all else from him.)

There. The most recent porn upload is finished. Techie applies the appropriate tag template, and then looks down at his datapad to make sure it’s accurate. Manually removes the couple tags that aren’t applicable to this particular video..

Sighing, he titles it. _Enforcer Shower JO #34-576 - dirty talk, cum eating, sexual fantasies._ There’s no point in trying to be creative about it—he has unlimited versions of the same, slightly varied thing, and he’d be out of words if he tried to do anything fancy with the titles.

Techie publishes it. Hits play on the video out of habit.

The First Order’s favourite enforcer left his socks on this time, even though he’s in the shower with the water running. Looks like the showers at the gym on the fifth floor, which is a variation from the regular showers he uses, which are on the same decks as his room.

 _Oh yeah, baby_ , Techie mouths, in time with the video even though he’s mostly scrolling through his datapad, just watching out of his peripheral vision. _Check out this big fat cock_.

Oh, no, wait, he said _dick_ that time. _Check out this big fat dick._

Variation in the patter. What a shocker.

_I’ll fucking touch it for you, let you choke on it. Swallow it back. Fuck your throat._

It’s shit videography. Sure, the video is steady—Techie suspects the Force has something to do with that—but there’s nothing for scale, so it’s just a hand on a cock. The entire setup would be more effective if the enforcer had smaller hands, but he doesn’t, and the sheer size of his cock is completely unremarkable unless there’s something—or someone—in the frame for size comparison.

(There was a trooper the enforcer had fucked in video 19-436, and when he’d pulled his cock out and let it slap down onto their face, it stretched from their chin past their eyebrows. That was a good video, with consistent hits—but that was before Techie started hooking viruses into the porn, so it hadn’t gotten him anything, and if he re-uploads, he loses the stats and the history of this one. Part of building up trustworthiness, as a purveyor of illegal porn, is making it look like your videos are all harmless, and Techie needs the old videos because it makes him look good.)

Back to the video.

It’s a good cock. Techie licks his lips, watches the enforcer jack himself off. Death grip, most likely, judging by the white in his knuckles, the flex of the tendons in his forearms. Not gonna be good for him in the long term, but that’s none of Techie’s business. High command can deal with that like they deal with everything else. Techie reaches out to the monitor, scrubs along the length of the video, watches the frames in fast forward. The enforcer’s got one hand on his cock, then the other on his balls. Not even so much as a reach-around.

Techie slows the video back down to regular speed, picks up a couple pieces of copper wire and starts twisting them together. Watches the enforcer come over his own hand, and then duck his head and lick it back off his palm, loose strands of hair catching in the gobs of it left on his knuckles. He’s breathing a little heavier than usual, and Techie waits for the awful one-liner at the end—but this video ends silently, the video eclipsed completely by the enforcer’s still-damp palm reaching for the comm and then cutting to black.

Techie closes the video, glances at the stats.

Two hits. Already.

 _For fuck’s sake_. He taps over to the video history, even though he knows what he’s going to see. Recognizes the workstation ID immediately. It’s the technician from fifth deck. Again.

“Fucking hell.” Techie sets down the wire, swaps over to the detailed logs. Watches the technician click through the system, try to download this video three times in a row— _downloads are turned off, buddy_ —and then settle for watching it again.

Techie gestures the logs off to a corner of the screen, opens up the code for his app again. It’s in good shape, really. It works on his dummy machines. Works on his test accounts. He just needs to get some idiot to install it, so he can start pulling in real data. Maybe it’s close enough to being ready.

Maybe he can just do it now.

Techie looks over at the door to his room. He could just go out there, install his program on external work stations himself. He has a uniform. He has a job. He works here. He could just—go out, and get the data himself.

_Nah._

Once he gets the app running, he’ll have total control over that segment of the network. Once he gets one segment, it’ll be easier to get the others. It’ll be all downhill from there. Eventually, he’ll be able to hold the entire Finalizer network in the palm of his hand, if the need arises.

He glances up at the logs.

The technician is still watching the most recent video, because of course he is.

Techie compiles the code for his app. Watches the logs. The technician is still there. Still watching.

Techie digs into his archives, picks one of the better videos. One of the ones that he’s held back—enforcer porn, again, but this time with one of the troopers, so there’s actually something for scale on that monster cock. Techie modifies the file, sets it up so it requires the app to be installed, and then flings it up onto the darknet.

The technician clicks on it immediately.

And then again.

And then again.

“Won’t open, buddy,” Techie says softly. He uploads the installer for the app, backdates it so it looks like it’s been there the entire time. Squints at the monitor.

It’d be fucking stupid to download the app. It’d be fucking stupid to download any kind of porn that requires its own viewer in order to look at it, because you never know what the fuck has been bundled in with the viewer, and when you’ve got a guy like Techie writing the fucking thing, downloading the viewer is basically a license to expose your entire system to a wide variety of hand-coded trojan hoses, viruses, keyloggers, backdoor vulnerabilities. Everything Techie needs to start digging into people’s lives, taking control, taking—

—the technician has downloaded the app.

Installed it.

Opened the porn.

Techie starts hacking into the technician’s console. Mirrors the porn he’s watching onto one side of his monitor, and then starts working on getting into the console’s webcam on the other. The tricky bit will be the permissions—he’s gotta rely on the technician being horny enough that he’ll consent to sharing his webcam, because that’s how paranoid high command is, but once Techie gets those permissions once, he’ll be able to replicate them every time...

(The enforcer porn continues on the far side of his screen. It’s the exact same deal as the other porn he’d uploaded earlier. Same boring dirty talk too, but with the added bonus of a maskless trooper in full body armour kneeling on the floor, trying and failing to fit any significant portion of the enforcer’s cock into his mouth.)

Techie waits until just before the enforcer comes, and then pushes the webcam permission request right into the middle of the technician’s screen. Waits for it—

—and he’s in.

The webcam feed loads, the footage starting grainy, and then gradually resolving into focus. (He’ll have to put in a service request for better hardware wherever this technician is, the speed here is shit.) The lights are off in the technician’s room, but there’s enough residual light from the screen that Techie can catch the occasional flash of blonde hair, floofy and messy and unkempt. There’s an odd reflection that keeps bouncing back to the webcam, like the technician is wearing goggles or glasses or something.

Techie picks up his wire sculpture again, taps in the command for audio.

The audio takes forever to load too, because of course it does. Supposedly it’s connected, but Techie can’t hear a fucking thing. He cranks the volume up a bit louder, and then a bit louder, trying to see if—

—ah, there. He can hear the technician breathing, at least. Heavily.

Techie leaves the volume cranked up, turns his attention to the wire while he waits for something interesting to happen. In the top corner of his screen, the enforcer is slapping his cock against the trooper’s lips, smearing precome and spit all over his face before the trooper opens his mouth again.

He’s bored after thirty seconds. Sends the webcam feed off to the side, brings up the directory of the videos he’s withheld. He scans through the files, letting his eyes do the work of unscrambling the code embedded into the file name. Uses that data to pick ten of the better videos, and starts attaching more trojans to them. This one, for full control of the webcam instead of just audio/visual. This one, for monitoring of the intranet connection going into the technician’s quarters. This one, for location data. He matches them with their associated metadata files, sets them to post gradually over the next twenty-four hours, on a randomly timed queue. The files are massive, requiring a mandatory download, and will only open if Techie’s app is installed on the specific workstation that the user is sitting at.

On the audio feed, he can hear the technician groaning. He checks his watch. Four minutes, thirty five seconds.

Fascinating.

Techie takes a quick look at the rest of his scripts, tries to figure out what worth trying to get away with. If he makes everything too invasive too fast, he risks losing it all—but if he doesn’t get on this fucking idiot while they’re still sex-drunk and stupid, then they’ll probably just wipe their machine before they’ve even wiped the sex juice off their hand, and then Techie will be right back to square one again.

What he really needs are full administrative rights. Not just to the workstation. To the rest of the technician’s life as well. To the door to their suite, the intensity of their sonic, and whether or not they’ve accepted the overtime shifts they get offered. Access to their email. To their medical files. Absolutely everything. Techie wants absolutely everything.

With any luck, the technician is interested in jerking it in places that aren’t their own workstation, and Techie’s viruses will spread that way.

He sets down the wire sculpture. It’s not helping. He can feel it itching under his skin. Mania.

He shoves his hand into his pants, stares at the porn in the top corner of the screen.

Nothing.

Opens up his list of personnel.

Picks a number.

*

The trooper underneath him is moaning and writhing, and Techie is completely over it. The constant shifting is almost enough to make Techie slip out, because getting his hips right up against some stranger’s sweaty thighs is not his fucking idea of a good time.

He darts a quick look up to the trooper’s face. The blindfold hasn’t shifted.

Good.

Maybe it’ll be quick.

*

When Techie logs back into his computer, his app has been installed on three more workstations.

He checks his chrono. Less than twenty four hours, and unless there’s another user—

—no, it’s all the same technician as the first time. A computer up on third deck, one in the starboard storage bays, and the third one in the cafeteria. Techie sighs, wipes his nose on his sleeve, and starts his software downloading on the new machines he’s just acquired.

Technician SN-L797 (male, radar technician, good performance reviews, shit interpersonal skills) is a fucking asshat.

*

This week’s network status report is ninety-five percent accurate, follows all the activities of the week in a chronological order, and contains only six nonsensical sentences, which is a significant improvement over the report that the computer generated for him last week.

Techie frowns at the screen, continues to crimp wire between his fingernails as he contemplates the best course of action. Isolates the sentences that look the most like his own work and ranks them higher, takes the nonsensical sentences and a few other items that look like complete garbage, and boots them back to the server. Takes the best paragraphs from one of high command’s reports earlier in the week and throws those into the neural network as well, because occasional inclusions of the general’s exact phrasing will make Techie look more ingratiating, as though he’s thankful for his work here, for the opportunities.

(The thing he’s thankful for is his safety, but it doesn’t feel secure yet, because he doesn’t have enough on _them_ to feel secure about anything. He’s thankful to be left alone, to have his own room, to know that his eyes are safe and so is his stomach, to know that nobody gets near him with knives, not anymore. The rest of it, he doesn’t really give a shit about, except that he needs to know that they’ll leave him alone forever. It isn’t enough being safe now. He needs to be safe forever.)

The next version of his assigned status report looks better. It contains three small errors, which are just enough errors to look as though the report was compiled by a human, but not enough errors to raise any red flags.

Techie schedules it to be sent forty five seconds prior to the deadline, and then dismisses the calendar reminder and pulls up his security cameras.

It’s four fifty-six in the morning, and the ship is quiet.

There is no one in the hall outside his room.

He shoves a chair up against his door anyway.

*

It’s a pilot this time, and he won’t stop fucking _talking_.

“—sure you don’t wanna meet up again, sometime? I had a lot of fun, man, and we could totally do this again.”

Techie scowls at him, yanks the used condom off his cock and shoves it into his pocket. He doesn’t like it when they ask questions, because he doesn’t want to talk. If he talks, they could identify him, and if they identify him, they’ll want to find him, and if they find him—

“I mean,” the pilot continues, tapping his fingertips on the blindfold he’s still wearing. “If you like this kinda stuff, I have some other shit back in my room you might like? Technically, it’s contraband, but what are they gonna do to me, you know? I was thinking—”

He’s still talking when Techie leaves the room, just as silently as he’d entered it. He doesn’t turn the lights back on until he’s back in his own room, and the pilot is still sitting there in the dark, looking slightly confused.

When the pilot pulls the blindfold off his head, he’s not bad looking.

Techie marks his callsign down on the list mounted at the head of his bed, crosses it off decisively.

There. Done.

On to the next.

*

“Oh, yeah, baby,” the technician says, in a low, gravelly voice.

Techie flicks his gaze up to the top of the screen—and, yeah, that’s exactly what he thought. The dumb fuck is just repeating all the enforcer’s lines along with him. It’s the—seventh time the technician has watched this particular video. Third time this session—and he came at the end of the first viewing, so Techie’s got no fucking clue why he’s still watching.

“Suck my cock,” the technician says breathlessly. His delivery is off from the enforcer’s delivery in the video, so he’s not even doing his mimicking well at this point.

Techie looks down at the wire sculpture in his hands. It’s a vulptex. He’s already made forty-seven of them. He twists it in his fingers, and then sets it down, hacks into the technician’s webcam.

The light from the technician’s computer screen reflects off his glasses, obscures his face. Techie disregards that, taps in a few commands to shift the webcam further down. He wasn’t wrong—the technician’s dick is limp on his thigh, and there’s cum smeared on his leg.

The technician shifts awkwardly, raises himself up a little. There’s a glint of something underneath him.

Techie frowns, zooms in.

The technician is fucking himself on a dildo attached to the base of his chair.

Techie winces as his eyes involuntarily dilate, and then squints to refocus them back to where they should be. Zooms the camera in as much as he can, but he doesn’t have a good angle on it, can’t see much more than he’s already looking at now.

He has something the technician can shove up his ass, all right.

Techie searches the official personnel list. SN-L797, stationed with the Finalizer for six years. Techie gets up from his computer, goes over to the list by his bed. Scans over the list—and there it is. SN-L797, crossed out with one single line. The date next to the entry is three years ago. No additional notations.

That’s that, then.

They’ve fucked already.

They won’t fuck again.

Techie will just pick someone else the next time he needs to get off.

*

“So, like, you’re the guy, right?”

Techie scowls at SN-L797 even though the technician is blindfolded and won’t be able to see it.

“From, like, three years ago,” the technician says. “I’m Matt. I don’t know if you remember me? It was a different storage room last time, and the blindfold was different, but, like. I remember you.”

This is a horrible mistake. This is a horrible mistake and Techie is hard in spite of it, has been ever since he walked into the room and locked the door behind them. The technician is sitting right from of him and can’t see him and nothing is preventing Techie from just walking out and not doing this, but he doesn’t want to go.

(He remembers the slack-jawed look on the technician’s face from the webcam footage. Remembers how he kept fucking himself on the dildo long after he came.)

“Not me,” Techie mutters.

“No, it’s totally you,” the technician says. “I remember your scent, man. This is awesome. This is—yeah. Do you want me to strip down completely, or just take my pants off? I’ve been working out a lot. Since the last time. I pretty much have an eight-pack. I’m shredded. Like Kylo Ren. You’d like it.”

“Won’t,” Techie mumbles. “Yes, though.”

“What?”

“Strip.”

The technician—Matt—stands up. Shrugs his vest off. It hits the floor of the storage room with a distinct clank. He yanks hard at the zipper of his coveralls, shrugs those off too. The white tank he’s wearing underneath is stretched obscenely over his pecs, and his underwear don’t leave anything to the imagination.

Matt is already hard.

Lots of people have dicks that big. Statistically speaking.

Techie swallows. His own cock is shoving against the zipper of his shorts.

Matt yanks his tank off over his head, shoves his underwear off. Reaches back behind himself, feels out the edge of the storage crates, and then hops up on top, legs spread obscenely. “My dick is the same size as Kylo Ren’s. I know because I’ve seen porn of him. It’s on the porno net, or whatever. Are you on the PornoNet? Maybe you should give me your username. I know where all the good porn is.”

Techie’s mouth is watering. He wants—

“Like I said,” Matt says aggressively. “I have an eight pack. Do you like it?”

“No,” Techie responds. He’s lying, but it’s worth it to see Matt’s mouth twitch. “Lie back.”

Matt scowls at him, but does as he asks. When he pulls his knees back to his chest, his hole is already wet.

“Slut,” Techie breathes, and Matt scowls harder.

“Look, if you don’t wanna do this—”

Techie reaches out, puts his hand on Matt’s foot. (He’s not touching bare skin, Matt’s still wearing his socks. It’s fine.) “Shut up,” he says softly. “This is how it works. I’m going to fuck you. You’re going to keep the blindfold on. You’re not going to touch me. I’m not going to touch you. You can get yourself off if you want. I don’t care. This is a one-time offer. It’s not going to happen again.”

“I remember,” Matt says. “From last time you fucked me.”

Techie blinks. Shifts his weight.

“Your accent is weird,” Matt adds, lying back down on the crate. “Where are you from originally? Do you know? Did the Order just take you?”

Techie drops the first condom he pulls out of his pocket. Curses, grabs a second, and nearly fumbles that too. Tears the wrapper, gets it on. Pulls lube out from the other pocket, slicks himself up. “Don’t fuck this up,” he warns. Situates himself between Matt’s legs. Unlike the dark pubic hair at the base of his dick, Matt’s ass is hairless. Shaved. Techie wants to touch it with his fingers, but—skin on skin is a bad idea.

It’s unnecessary. He’ll come just fine like this.

Techie grabs the edge of the storage container with his left hand, uses his right to grip the base of his dick, press forward into Matt. Matt is loose, wet. Sloppy.

It’s perfect.

“I saw this video of Kylo Ren,” Matt says, head lolling back on the crate as Techie slides into him. “He was fucking one of the other officers.”

Techie exhales through his nose, presses further into Matt until he’s bottomed out. Moves his other hand to the edge of the crate as well. Their only point of contact is Techie’s dick, and Matt’s ass squeezing tight around it.

(He knows the video Matt’s talking about. The officer isn’t identifiable in the footage, but Techie knows who it is.)

“The officer was taking his entire dick, no problem. I tried that once, with a trooper. It did not go well.” Matt takes a deep breath, clenches his hands into fists, tilts his head back. “I like taking your cock.”

“Motherfucker,” Techie says fervently. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” Matt says. “Hey,” he adds. “I’m gonna touch myself.”

Techie fucks into him harder, zooms in his eyes so he can watch the rough way Matt touches himself, giant hand on his giant cock. He’s closer than he expected, quicker than he expected. Doesn’t remember it being this good last time, fucking shit, fucking hell, fuck—

“Glad you—contacted me,” Matt gasps. “I don’t bottom—for anybody else—but it’s real good—with you.”

Techie wants to shove at Matt’s legs, press them down into his chest. Put Matt’s ankles over his shoulders. Bite into his soft thighs, watch Matt writhe underneath him. He’s not going to do any of that. This is unremarkable sex. It was unremarkable the first time. It’s unremarkable this time.

“Aaaah,” Matt gasps. “I’m coming, I’m splooging all over—”

Matt’s ass clenches, and Techie comes, sharp and intense, pulls out almost immediately without bothering to ride out the aftershocks. Snaps off the condom, shoves it in his pocket, and tucks himself away.

Matt’s abs are covered in his own semen, and Matt is panting hard, thumb dragging through his own mess.

“Count to fifty before you take the blindfold off,” Techie says. “I’ll know if you don’t.”

(He reviews the security footage from the storage room afterward. Watches Matt lying there on his back on the crate, his socks still on, and three fingers up his ass as he counts to fifty. When he finally takes off the blindfold, he looks oddly disappointed.)

*

“No, wait, wait,” Matt says. “Lemme switch positions—I swear I can do this, I saw it in a video—”

Techie takes a deep breath. He’s been watching Matt try—and fail—to suck himself off for the past seven minutes, and the worst part is that he’s been hard the entire time, hard and aching to fuck and instead he’s just—standing here, like a fucking goon, watching Matt sweat and struggle for it. Matt’s massive cock is nowhere near his mouth. It never has been.

“My glasses are in the way, can I just...I won’t move the blindfold, I promise.” Matt carefully slides his glasses out from under the blindfold, knocking them to the floor when he tries to set them on the crate. Without warning, he rocks back and swings his legs up over his head in the most inelegant display of amateur contortion Techie has ever seen.

(He definitely saw Matt’s entire asshole as Matt was shifting into position. He hadn’t forgotten it from the first time. Last time. Whatever. Matt’s asshole is getting very familiar at this point.)

“Almost,” Matt grunts.

“There’s still fourteen inches to go,” Techie says, his eyes measuring the space automatically before his brain has even decided whether he wants to know.

“No, that’s only, like, three inches,” Matt insists. “I can smell it. I’m real close, just, like—come over here and push on my thighs or something.”

Techie takes a step closer, hesitates.

It is like it always is—Matt is stark naked except for a blindfold tied around his eyes, all his clothes dumped unceremoniously in a pile. Techie is still fully dressed, hasn’t even palmed himself over his clothes yet. Doesn’t need to.

“I’m not pushing on your thighs,” Techie says. “But I’ll fuck you like this.”

Matt turns his head in Techie’s direction, even though he can’t see anything through the blindfold. “You’ll crawl up on the crate with me?”

Techie feels a twinge of regret, but walks closer anyway. “Yeah,” he says, reaching down to tug his cock out of his shorts, grabbing a condom from one of his pockets. “Fuck it, yeah.”

Matt looks fucking good bent awkwardly on top of the crate. His face has gone all red up to his ears, which are poking through his messy mop of blonde hair, and Techie almost wants to grab a fistful of that hair and tug, see if he can get Matt’s cock into his mouth that way—except that he’s just here so he can get off, and the rest of it is irrelevant.

“Hold still,” Techie mutters as he clambers up onto the crate, awkwardly shuffles closer to Matt on his knees. The crate is full of bumps and irregular edges, and he’ll probably bruise, but Matt has prepped himself in advance this time too, and his hole looks puffy and slightly used, like maybe he already spent part of the evening fucking himself on that toy he’s got attached to his desk chair, and Techie’s going to be able to slide right in there—

“Please,” Matt whines. “It feels so good when you fuck me, put it in me—”

Techie inches a bit closer, reaches up and grabs onto the pipe suspended from the ceiling with one hand, uses the other to steady his cock until he’s pushed inside Matt.

Matt shudders as Techie breaches him, bites his lip, turning his head from side to side as though he’ll be able to see Techie if he looks at exactly the right angle.

(The blindfold is impenetrable, even under bright light conditions, which is good because Techie didn’t bother shutting off the power to this storage room before they started fucking, and the amount of detail he’s able to see of Matt’s body makes it very, very worthwhile. He doesn’t get this amount of detail in Matt’s quarters. Matt never turns up the lights. Techie might have to turn them up for him.)

Techie settles his palms on the backs of his own thighs. “Hold still,” he says. He knows Matt will, because Matt always does.

“Wait, though,” Matt gasps, just as Techie is settling into the hard and fast rhythm that’ll get this encounter over with as soon as possible. “I bet I can do it still.”

“What?”

“Suck my own cock,” Matt insists. “Just, like—if you crouch, and I put my legs back, and you kinda, like—lean on me when you’re...when you’re in me—”

“I don’t—” Techie says—but fucking goddamn hell this is good, and he fucks into Matt just short of brushing his hip bones against Matt’s ass, stares at Matt’s face while he does it, at the way his chest heaves and his hair keeps falling into the blindfold, which is slipping just a bit—probably enough justification to stop and get it fixed, but Techie been on the edge for half an hour now, and Matt just feels so goddamn fucking good—

“Like this,” Matt insists, and kicks his leg back. Matt’s body lists to the side. Techie grabs for the overhead pipe to steady himself. His dick pops out, completely exposed, sliding over Matt’s hip as Matt tumbles sideways off the edge off the crate.

Matt lands with a horrific thud on the metal floor.

Fuck,” Techie spits, and he grabs his dick in one hand, reaches for Matt’s ankle with the other, leans over the edge of the crate—

—and looks directly into Matt’s wide brown eyes.

Matt squeezes his eyes shut right away, throws his arm over his face. Like that changes anything. Like it undoes any of this fucking shitshow mess. Techie’s entire body shudders, his eyes whirring and going unfocused. They’ve seen each other. Matt has seen him, actually seen him—

—they’ve seen each other.

Techie looks down.

He’s come inside the condom. His dick is still twitching in his hand.

“I have to go,” Techie says roughly.

“Can you…keep watching me? While I jerk off,” Matt asks from the floor. “I’m close, I swear—I’m covering my eyes, I can’t see anything, I didn’t notice your hair—I didn’t see anything—”

Techie snarls wordlessly at him, wipes his filthy hand on his shorts, and scurries back off the crate, hitting the lights in the room on the way out.

“—again sometime?” Matt is asking, but Techie is getting the fuck out of there, and he has no intention of going back.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Techie is darkly sarcastic throughout; it's a trauma response | he's unspecific as to who took his eyes, and refers to the perpetrators as 'they'; rest assured the Order had nothing to do with it | Kylo is seen on a number of homemade porno videos he's uploaded fucking people who aren't Hux (and occasionally fucking Hux); Hux is perfectly aware and enthusiastically consenting to this | Techie hacks Matt's computer, including his webcam, repeatedly | Matt accepts the permission request for the first webcam hack, but from Techie's POV, it's unclear as to whether he knew what he was agreeing to | Initially, Techie is using Matt with the hopes of distributing viruses throughout the system | Techie is paranoid about everything; his Peach Trees backstory still happened but is only lightly referenced here | Techie has a couple of anonymous hookups throughout; they're consensual but unsatisfying | Techie blindfolds all his hookups so they can't see him | Techie calls Matt a slut; Matt scowls at him thinking it's a dismissal; it isn't | while fucking, Matt falls off a crate; he's unharmed but they don't discuss it | due to the crate fall, Matt's blindfold slips and he and Techie make accidental eye contact; Matt covers his face but Techie's identity is revealed, and Techie bolts
> 
> ***
> 
> ktula is on [twitter](https://twitter.com/heyktula), [dreamwidth](https://ktula.dreamwidth.org/), and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/ktula).
> 
> Deadsy is on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deadsy_art).
> 
> ***


	2. User Interface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Techie shuts his eyes, signs out of the communication software by voice command. Reaches out to his desk and picks up the closest wire tauntaun, starts methodically crushing it between his fingers, limb by limb, then folding the limbs up into the body, and crushing the rest of it until it’s nothing more than a ball of metal, compressed too tightly to be useful for anything ever again.  
> “Fucking bullshit,” he mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings are at the end, as usual!

 

A series of unfortunate events befall SN-L797:

The security key to his room is repeatedly reset, locking him out of his room for hours at a time.

His laundry is rerouted and then lost. He’s stuck wearing the same set of overalls for a week.

His lights turn on in the middle of the night, and cannot be turned off using the switch.

His modified desk chair is confiscated as part of a random HSE inspection which targets his room, and no one else’s.

Serves the fucker right.

*

Techie is writing this cycle’s security report manually, even though his eyes are burning. It’s penance, for doing something stupid and nearly getting caught. For thinking he could fuck somebody more than once.

His desk is littered with wire sculptures. Most of them have been squashed. It doesn’t matter. Without any kind of sexual outlet, he has nothing to do but make wire sculptures, do his job, and constantly replay everything that went wrong.

_I have to go_.

This particular report is focused on data fidelity in the backups, and the challenges of synchronizing data between remote sites. The limited resources in the First Order—less limited now, with Snoke’s backing, but more so in the earlier years—led to procedures of truncating backups, which Techie has been trying to put a stop to the entire time he’s been here, because he never deletes anything, nothing at all, makes sure that there are always backups, that every burner account he’s ever created remains accessible, just in case he needs it.

_Can you keep watching me?_

He won’t need his backups. But he might. And if he does—the data is there, and it takes up hardly any space at all. Worrying over the state of the Finalizer backups spikes the anxiety in his gut. He should check his own data just to be sure, just to make sure his history is still intact. (They can’t take that from him, not here.) He swipes at his monitor, taps the shortcut for one of his hidden drives into the air, pulls up his hidden file network—

Techie narrows his eyes at his own displays.

There are messages on the burner accounts.

There are _lots_ of messages on the burner accounts.

More specifically, there are messages across the last handful of burner accounts he’s created, and more messages on an account from three years ago, and the only thing all three of those particular accounts have in common is—

_SN-L797: i swear i saw nothing_

_SN-L797: pls contact me_

_SN-L797: pls_

The messages continue. Across every account he’s ever contacted Matt on.

Techie’s stomach twists as he scrolls, everything blurring together. He squeezes his eyes shut, but the data keeps scrolling behind his eyelids.

He logs into the most recent burner account.

_PP-3JP: SN-L797._

_PP-3JP: Cease communication with this address._

_SN-L797: is it you_

_PP-3JP: This communication is not monitored._

_PP-3JP: This is an automatic response._

_SN-L797: is it_

Techie shuts his eyes, signs out of the communication software by voice command. Reaches out to his desk and picks up the closest wire tauntaun, starts methodically crushing it between his fingers, limb by limb, then folding the limbs up into the body, and crushing the rest of it until it’s nothing more than a ball of metal, compressed too tightly to be useful for anything ever again.

“Fucking bullshit,” he mutters.

*

Techie squeezes the base of his cock, as though he can force himself to get hard. He’d spent a week monitoring the surveillance cameras on the fifth deck gym for the perfect tall, chiselled gym rat, and this guy is definitely it--blonde, even--but Techie can’t get hard, and there’s no fucking point. “Fucking— _useless_.”

“What?” The gym rat turns to look over his shoulder, despite the blindfold keeping him from seeing anything.  “I...we didn’t talk about this, but I’m into humiliation if that’s what you like. Tell me how small my calves are, I know they’re weak. I’ve been hitting them three times a week but...” He gestures to his legs.

Techie stares at him for a moment, and then tucks his limp dick back in his pants and heads back to his room without another word.

*

Techie squints at the monitor. Taps the webcam command, pans, zooms.

Nothing.

It’s a black screen.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters. Pulls up the personnel list, confirms what he already knows—room assignments haven’t shifted, nothing has changed. The software is still installed, he’s hacked in exactly as he should be. This is definitely SN-L797’s room.

Cursing, Techie reboots the program. Loads it back up again. Hacks back in. Rubs his hands over his eyes, even the eyedrops don’t help. He needs sleep, but he can’t, needs to rest, but he has—

The visuals load. The screen is still black.

“God fucking damnit, what is this shit.” Techie pulls up the tech specs for the workstation he’s hacked into, confirms there’s no technical problems—but also confirms that the webcam hasn’t been upgraded. “I put in the hardware request myself, why is this still the fucking old model.”

He nudges the volume on the feed higher, but all he can hear are muffled sounds. Nothing he can decipher.

He leaves the visuals up on his monitor until the next day.

Nothing changes.

*

Techie receives an initial reprimand six days later.

It’s not directed at him.

It’s just an official inquiry from high command about the sudden uptick in a number of banned search terms.

_...as per our previous communication, this is not the kind of behaviour that I allow on my ship, and you are authorized to use whatever means necessary to shut this down. I assume you have access to the logs on your end as well, but have attached a list of the specific terms I am concerned about. The obvious intention of the searches is pornographic in nature and thus to be banned utterly. On top of everything, a number of these terms are inaccurate. I intend to send a reminder out to all First Order personnel regarding personal grooming regulations. I refuse to let insidious rumors about my person circulate around this ship again…_

Techie flicks at his touchscreen, opens up the attachment, and stares at the list of words.

There is, in fact, a common theme to the search terms.

> _ginger_
> 
> _ginger twink_
> 
> _Readhead twink long hair_
> 
> _is there a word for twinks who top_
> 
> _strawberry hair down to his shoulders gay_
> 
> _storage room fuck guy_
> 
> _how do mechanical eyes work_
> 
> _greasy hair sweetheart_
> 
> _fairy faced ginger angel_
> 
> _how to contact a guy with bionic parts_
> 
> _scarlet treasses_
> 
> _Is it safe to douche with an old water bottle_
> 
> _redhead redhead REDHEAD_

The common theme to the search terms is not what high command thinks it is.

The common theme to the search terms has nothing to do with high command. (High command is being self-centered.)

The common theme to the search terms is Techie.

And Matt is still looking for him.

Techie can’t have that.

Matt won’t find him, because he’s not officially registered on this ship—or anywhere—an arrangement he made long ago with H—with high command. But Matt’s search terms are getting too revealing for his liking.

It would be so much fucking easier if things just went back to the way they were before, when Matt jacked off to videos of Kylo Ren, and Techie could use him to get off when he felt like it, and everything was fine. Not—whatever this is.

(Matt’s eyes, big and bright and round, Matt’s arm thrown over his face, Matt claiming that he didn’t see anything even though it’s a fucking _lie_ , he’s a liar, a liar—)

Maybe things have already gone back to normal.

Techie pulls up the analytics for his porn app, searches Matt’s workstation ID.

No activity in the past week.

“Fuck,” Techie mutters, hands dancing across the keyboard as he logs into Matt’s webcam, expecting the feed to come up black again. Maybe high command already took action independent of anything Techie had recommended, sixty-seven pages of bullshit...maybe Matt’s already been transferred off—

The feed comes to life, and Matt...well, he’s definitely trying to get off.

From this angle, Techie can only see his ass, but he’d recognize it anywhere. The deep furrows framing his glutes as he clenches his cheeks, the little hollows in Matt’s lower back Techie could dig his thumbs into, the constellation of moles over his skin.

Matt’s kneeling backwards on his computer chair, slumped over the backrest, his right arm hidden by his body but obviously furiously working his cock.

Techie turns up the volume on the feed. He watches as Matt’s hips twitch, his yellow hair finally appearing in the frame as he cranks his head back and groans. “Oh yeah, breed me over the storage crate. Ffffuuuu...uuuuuuh….” His whole body jerks violently—and again—then stills. Abruptly, Matt unfolds his legs and flips around in the chair, his ass hitting the seat with a smack.

Techie draws back on instinct as Matt’s eyes pause on his webcam, then continue up to the ceiling while he slumps in the chair, wiping his dripping hand off on his chest. Techie keeps the webcam feed on while he opens up Matt’s browser history, scrolls through and confirms that Matt has been watching—nothing.

No videos in his history.

Techie just watched Matt jerk off to nothing. No visual stimulus at all. Who does that? Especially someone with such conventional...banal...taste in porn. The asshole who’s been—until recently—jerking it to the same shitty enforcer videos over and over until his dick’s raw.

So much for fucking normalcy.

*  
    
Techie is coding new banner ads for the porn app. Aggressive pop-ups that’ll force their way to the front of Matt’s workstation the moment he even thinks about logging into it. He includes a carefully cropped still of the video where the enforcer fucks the officer. It’s the only video Matt’s specifically mentioned. It had to have made an impression.

Then, Techie waits. Coils wire around his fingers, jiggles his knee. Hacks into Matt’s webcam and watches the still footage of his empty room. Tries not to focus too hard on how wound up he is, or how long it’s been since he’s crossed any names off his list. He needs Matt to fucking sort himself out already, quit typing dumbass sentences into the search, go back to obsessing over the enforcer. If this continues, Techie is going to get hell from high command.

Techie doesn’t want that kind of attention.

Matt arrives back at his room twenty-seven minutes after the end of his shift, storms in looking furious. Techie watches him bang around the room for a few minutes, but doesn’t turn on the audio, just waits until Matt has struggled his way out of his vest before he forces Matt’s workstation on, and then triggers the banner ads, brute forces them onto the screen.

_Special today for preferred customers: 2 for 1 downloads. New enforcer videos!_

“Come on, fucker,” Techie mutters, refocusing his eyes. “Just click, and download, and let’s move the fuck on.”

Matt squints through his thick-lensed glasses, comes over to the workstation. He sits down on his cock-less computer chair. Leans in.

Fucking finally.

Techie reaches over, turns up the volume.

Matt puts his hand in the direction of his mouse—then he moves his fingers to the keyboard, starts typing using only his index fingers.

_gay ginger twink assfuck_

“It’s not a fucking search window,” Techie hisses at his screen. “It’s the chat. You’re typing in the fucking chat.”

Matt sends the message, waits.

Techie presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. More messages start pinging in.

_where to download ginger twink videos_

_ginger twink topping blond beeftank_

For fuck’s sake, fucking motherfucking shitting ass—

_Admin: I see you’re trying to download videos. Can we assist you?_

_SN-L797: hi u know a lot about computers_

_Admin: This is tech support._

_SN-L797: ca u help me find a guy_

_SN-L797: ginger guy. long hair._

_SN-L797: not military_

_SN-L797: hangs out in the lower levels_

_SN-L797: i gotta find him_

_Admin: Do you require technical assistance?_

Techie watches impassively in the webcam as Matt snarls, picks something up off his desk and throws it into the far corner of the room before he stands up so abruptly that his chair falls over, goes to his bunk and punches the shit out of his pillow, and then comes back to the computer, starts pecking away at the keyboard again.

(Tantrums don’t faze Techie. He’s seen real violence.)

_SN-L797: can u help me upload one of my videos_

_SN-L797: i’m trying to impress a guy and i hope hes on here_

_SN-L797: do u think if i upload a video of me jerking off he might contact me_

Techie twists a piece of his hair between his fingers, fidgets with the hem of his shirt. This is not how he wanted this to go. This is not normal.

(He’s interested, a little, in where Matt is taking this.)

_Admin: Videos can be uploaded via the upload file link. Select the link, and then navigate to the video you wish to upload._

It’s excruciating, watching Matt navigate through his file structure, his face right close to the computer screen. His file names are...not very creative, which is one of the kindest things Techie can say. There’s no rhyme or reason to the file structure, no naming convention to his files. There are at least sixteen files named some combination of _stuff_ with a series of numbers, and his porn is literally just labelled _porn_.

The video he selects for upload is called _storage room splooge_ , and Techie can fucking hear it in Matt’s voice even though he doesn’t want to.

_Admin: The video will be available once someone from our web team has reviewed it._

_SN-L797: ok_

And then Matt closes the chat window, gets up from his computer, and leaves his room.

Techie blinks, briefly considers following Matt on the security cameras, watching where he goes. But the video is right fucking there, and who the fuck cares where Matt is going.

(The insomnia is starting to eat away at the edges of Techie’s reality, and since he can’t get it up for anything since he stopped fucking Matt, maybe watching Matt fuck himself will be enough for Techie to take the edge off. It’s either this or medbay. Techie won’t go to medbay.)

He opens the video.

It’s poorly shot, poorly lit, and it’s not even Matt in the video—it’s the enforcer, black hair wild and partially obscuring his face, oversized dick clenched in his black-gloved fist, and Techie grimaces, takes his hand out of his shorts.

It must be one of the earlier videos, before the enforcer had started using the Force to hold the camera stead—

Techie reaches forward, pauses the video. Refocuses, zooms in.

There’s blond hair peeking out from underneath the unruly mop of black.

_Oh yeah, baby_ , the figure on the video says—and the timbre of the voice is slightly wrong, even though the delivery is perfect. _Check out this big fat cock._

Techie stares.

It’s Matt.

It’s Matt, dressed in black robes with stolen black gloves and a god-awful black wig, fisting his cock and repeating lines from the enforcer videos. He’s holding the camera with his other hand, meaning the damn thing is constantly shaking and shifting as he moves, and it’s like watching two spaceships collide into each other—the kind of thing everybody should move the fuck away from, but it’s goddamn impossible to stop watching it happen.

The fuck is Matt wearing a wig for, anyway? If he’s trying to impress somebody, he should just be—fuck, he should just be wanking off like a normal person, not going through this whole fucking mess.

Techie shuts the video off, closes down the connection to Matt’s workstation.

Fuck trying to jerk off. He’ll just stay awake until he passes out from sheer exhaustion.

*

_SN-L797: did u like my video_

_SN-L797: it never got posted_

_SN-L797: did the quality work out ok_

_Admin: The quality was fine. The video is still in the queue._

_*_

The next video is marginally better. The camera has been mounted to something, at least, and Matt keeps his head out of frame, so Techie doesn’t have to look at the godawful wig. His hand is bare in this one, and it’s better, even though the black robes are still present.

Techie closes his eyes, made gritty by the lack of sleep, rubs at his lids with his knuckles. Lets the video run in the background, one more time to check the audio rendering, before uploading it.

Maybe Matt will find someone else through uploading the video.

Maybe he’ll stop fixating on this.

Maybe things will go back to—

“Aw, yeah,” Matt slurs in the video. “I can feel your ginger pubes against me.”

Techie’s eyes snap open, and he winces against the sudden influx of light.

Stares at the screen.                  

*

The videos keep coming, each one worse than the last. They’re filmed all over the ship—storage rooms, radar bays, the underbelly of some kind of ship, Techie doesn’t give a fuck what kind. (Matt forgets to take off his glasses in one. In another, there’s grease smeared across the back of his hand, and Techie can’t stop staring at it.)

Techie dutifully uploads them.

No one is downloading them.

To make sure Matt doesn’t feel badly about it, Techie ventures out of his room, downloads Matt’s videos from a couple public workstations using burner accounts.

At least if Matt asks about the stats, Techie will have something to show him.

*

_SN-L797: have any gingers downloaded my stuff_

_Admin: We can pull a report on your statistics if you’re interested._

_SN-L797: pls u gotta help me out here_

_SN-L797: i’m looking for a specific guy_

*

Techie watches Matt maintain the same predictable routine after every shift: jerk off, work out, shower, jerk off—pettily jealous that Matt can go back to things so quickly when Techie is stagnating in his own celibacy.

This time, Matt’s on his knees on the floor of his room. Techie had to shift the webcam, tracked Matt’s position by listening to him grunt. He’s bare-ass naked, supporting himself on one hand, reaching awkwardly behind him with the other to press at his hole with his fingers.

Matt’s voice booms through Techie’s headphones, overly loud. “Please put it in, no one fucks me like you.”

The dialogue is so different when Matt’s not pretending to be someone else for the camera, when he’s alone in his room and he thinks no one is watching him. Matt forces two fingers roughly into his ass, tips forward onto his chest and face. Techie wishes he had another camera set up in the room so he could watch from another angle, he can’t quite see what Matt’s doing with his other hand. Maybe he can get a surveillance cam installed in there without arousing too much suspicion...

“Am I...is this good for you?” Matt grabs his ass cheek with his free hand, stretching his asshole and pushing his fingers further inside.

“Yes…” Techie says to his monitor.

_*_

Techie has seen a lot of sex toys in his life, but he had no fucking clue you could buy dildos with pubic hair on them. Techie can see the hair curling there, fuzzy and orange between Matt’s legs as he fucks himself on the dildo, his muscular thighs flexing as he maintains a squat without any visible effort. This dildo looks smaller than the one Matt had suction-cupped to his chair. Matt doubles over, obscuring most of Techie’s view. He’s probably trying to suck himself off again.

“Thank you for doing me without a blindfold, I love seeing your cock in my ass,” Matt says with a muffled voice. “Your pubes are so soft...maybe you’d let me blow you someday.”

Techie’s belly tenses with arousal, his eyes flicking to Matt’s messy hair. Thinks of threading his fingers through it, thinks of Matt’s mouth…

“Aaaaaaahhhh...sith on a saltine,” Matt curses, throwing his head back while he pumps his cock through an orgasm, splattering himself with semen. “Nail me, redheaded stallion—”

Techie jerks his hand away from his shorts, slams the feed shut. Grabs sanitizer off his desk, pumps several globs of it into his hand. Scrubs them together.

“Fucking...fuck. Goddamn fucking—”

The alcohol stings Techie’s dry skin.

*

The view is even worse when Matt’s lying on his bed, hairy-tufted dildo sticking out of his ass, but the upgraded audio means that at least he can hear Matt, even when he’s all the way over there.

“Pound me into the mattress, yes!” Matt yells. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, just like it had been the last time they fucked. Matt’s back had been glistening with it, too, his entire body slick.

“Lie on me,” Matt begs. “I want to feel your weight.” He yanks his pillow out from under his face, holds it against his thighs. Grips it with both hands, pushing his ass against it.

Techie’s breathing is irregular, breath catching in his lungs.

Matt’s panting too.

*

It’s four in the morning. Matt’s mouth is stretched around the dildo, orange hairs forming a moustache on his upper lip. Matt’s hand is furiously stripping his cock.

*

Techie watches as Matt sits down at his computer, waits for Matt to boot up the porn app—but he just opens up a video player, starts watching videos of…

...he’s watching videos of cats. Specifically, he’s watching the only officially sanctioned channel of cat videos on the entire fucking Finalizer.

He’s not even using the DarkNet.

He’s just watching cat videos.

*

Techie codes another aggressive pop-up.

_NEW VIDEO: Knights of Ren orgy._ _Guaranteed to make you splooge!_

He cringes as he types the words, but he’s desperate to get Matt’s attention. He’s counting on him to assume the video includes their master...which it doesn’t. The enforcer must’ve filmed it, at least, the camera is steady as fuck—but he’s not actively participating in the video.

Matt’s eyes pass over the pop-up, then his face drops. He types into the chat box with his annoying two-fingered technique.

SN-L797: _i dont care about porn anymore can i uninstall the viewer?_

Well, Matt accepted Techie’s bullshit TOS, which specifically disallows deinstallation, so no.

But...at least Matt is talking to him again.

_Admin: Is there specific content you’d like to see?_

_SN-L797: i don’t think so i jus found something better_

_Admin: If it’s that new Jedi porn site, that’s not even real. They’re all actors._

_SN-L797: no. a guy. A real guy. the ginger. i know hes on the ship. i calibrate the equipment that tracks the shuttles, and only Kylo’s ship has come and gone the last 2 mnths._

_SN-L797: he was better than porn_

_SN-L797: and he’s not on here._

Techie swallows down the acid that creeps up his throat.

_Admin:_ _Who’s this guy to you? What’s so special about him?_

_SN-L797:_ _he made me feel so hot, like i was worth taking his dick. he was so hard when he was inside me, i could tell because i was trying to clench my ass around it to make it good for him, u know? but it was too hard. he smelled awesome...not like soap and caf food like everyone else. my sense of smell is really good, like better than anyone I know. do u know about pheremones? i read a lot about them. i think thats why i cant stop thinking about him_

_SN-L797: i dont know anybody else liek him, and i screwed up, and i can’t find him to apologize._

It’s a long moment after Matt stops typing before Techie puts together a response.

_Admin: You don’t need to uninstall the app if you’re not using it._

_Admin:_ _I can contact you on here if I find him._

*

Fuck, what is Matt even doing. He’s sitting in his computer chair, but looking to the side, not at the screen. He’s holding his hand up to his face, open-mouthing his palm and wiggling his huge tongue between his fingers.

“I know you’d love my tongue in your ass,” Matt murmurs through his fingers. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” He slobbers between his fingers, tongue darting in and out. “Eat you out so good, skip breakfast just to eat your ass, I’ve never done it before but I’d be really good at it.” He shifts, whines. “You’d taste so good, it’s your pheromones, I bet they’re stronger there, I bet I can eat up your scent, swallow all of it down.”

His other hand is working between his legs, hips twitching, and Techie adjusts the webcam, zooms it down to see Matt cramming four fingers up his own ass, his entire hand soaked with lube, made frothy by the speed at which he’s fucking himself.

Alright, then.

*

_Admin: You should be more careful._

_SN-L797: with what?_

_SN-L797: did u find him? the ginger?_

_Admin: With what you install on your computer. You should be more careful._

_SN-L797: wat?_

_Admin: Did you know you gave me access to your webcam?_

_SN-L797: are u watching me now?_

_Admin: Are you still interested in the ginger?_

_SN-L797: yes_

_SN-L797: pls_

Techie peels the electrical tape off his own webcam.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Chapter Warnings:** Techie attempts to hook up with someone else; he can't get hard and leaves without attempting intercourse | hacking of Matt's webcam continues | Matt's dirty talk while masturbating includes the phrase 'breed me' but there's no further discussion of the topic
> 
> ***
> 
> ktula is on [twitter](https://twitter.com/heyktula), [dreamwidth](https://ktula.dreamwidth.org/), and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/ktula).
> 
> Deadsy is on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deadsy_art).
> 
> ***

**Author's Note:**

>  **Chapter Warnings:** Techie is darkly sarcastic throughout; it's a trauma response | he's unspecific as to who took his eyes, and refers to the perpetrators as 'they'; rest assured the Order had nothing to do with it | Kylo is seen on a number of homemade porno videos he's uploaded fucking people who aren't Hux (and occasionally fucking Hux); Hux is perfectly aware and enthusiastically consenting to this | Techie hacks Matt's computer, including his webcam, repeatedly | Matt accepts the permission request for the first webcam hack, but from Techie's POV, it's unclear as to whether he knew what he was agreeing to | Initially, Techie is using Matt with the hopes of distributing viruses throughout the system | Techie is paranoid about everything; his Peach Trees backstory still happened but is only lightly referenced here | Techie has a couple of anonymous hookups throughout; they're consensual but unsatisfying | Techie blindfolds all his hookups so they can't see him | Techie calls Matt a slut; Matt scowls at him thinking it's a dismissal; it isn't | while fucking, Matt falls off a crate; he's unharmed but they don't discuss it | due to the crate fall, Matt's blindfold slips and he and Techie make accidental eye contact; Matt covers his face but Techie's identity is revealed, and Techie bolts
> 
> ***
> 
> ktula is on [twitter](https://twitter.com/heyktula), [dreamwidth](https://ktula.dreamwidth.org/), and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/ktula).
> 
> Deadsy is on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deadsy_art).
> 
> ***


End file.
